


The Apple Pie Dream

by fleurofthecourt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, Djinnverse (Supernatural), Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Castiel, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3240941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurofthecourt/pseuds/fleurofthecourt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is the absolute last person Claire wants to call. The man is a monster, no matter what the guy playing her make-believe dad says. </p><p>But the thing is, said make-believe dad is missing. And she’s kind of worried about him. </p><p>And she doesn't know who else to call. </p><p>[Cas gets taken by a Djinn; Claire and Dean rescue him].</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime after s10e10: The Hunter Games.
> 
> Guys, if you're here, I assume you like Claire and wish you could see more of Claire, and if so, you should look into reading about this [Wayward Daughters Campaign](http://waywarddaughtersacademy.tumblr.com/) to start a spinoff about her, Jody, Donna, and Alex and if you think it's a good idea, sign this [ petition](https://www.change.org/p/create-the-spinoff-fans-want-to-see-wayward-daughters) to help make it a reality.

Dean Winchester is the absolute last person Claire wants to call. The man is a monster, no matter what the guy playing her make-believe dad says. 

But the thing is, said make-believe dad is missing. And she’s kind of worried about him. 

He was supposed to meet her for coffee in this run down excuse for a town in the middle of nowhere Indiana like a day ago. But there’s no sign of him or his crappy car anywhere in a five mile radius. 

She’s checked. 

She wants to say screw it -- this guy, who’s already messed up so much of her life, is a no show -- so she can just try, again, to forget about him and what he did and the fact that he’s still hanging around looking just like her actual father. 

But the thing is, Castiel _cares._ He just seeps caring. And regret. And this whole dorky kicked puppy thing that makes her want to let him try -- and fail miserably -- to fix the errors of his past. 

He can't fix what he broke, and she knows it. God, he knows it too. 

And maybe it’s dumb -- probably it’s incredibly dumb -- but she feels bad for him and how much he wants to try anyway. 

But, at the moment, it doesn’t matter because he can’t even attempt to try because he’s not actually here. 

Which, again, has her worried. Because he’s an entire day late, and he hasn’t responded to any of her texts, which is odd -- the guy has the weirdest affinity for them (as well as overusing facial expressions she doesn’t think she’s actually seen him crack). 

And when she calls him, his phone is going straight to voicemail. 

So, because she’s pretty confident that Castiel is a punctual guy, and she doesn’t know anyone else that might share her concern for this possible angel-in-distress situation, she’s dialing Dean’s number. 

She’s more than a little relieved, when he doesn’t answer, that she doesn’t have to actually talk to him. At least, not yet. 

“Hey, Dexter, it’s Claire. I’d tell you to go screw yourself, but I’m calling for Castiel. He was supposed to meet me in New Castle, Indiana. But he’s a no show. So unless I’m giving him too much credit here, and he’s with you, you should check up on him.” 

Not two minutes later, Dean’s calling her back, and he cuts right to the chase. “When’s the last you heard from him?" 

"Sent me a text yesterday saying he stopped at a farm in Ohio a few hours before we were supposed to meet. Something about me having something healthier than ketchup to eat." 

"He...? You know what, nevermind," Dean mutters. "Well, looks like he left Ohio. GPS on his phone puts him outside Batesville.” 

"You track his GPS?" Claire raises her eyes, because, uh, possessive much? “What are you? His keeper?” 

"Hey, this ain't the first time the guy’s been kidnapped or tricked or whatever. Color me concerned," Dean says. “You got a way to get there?" 

Castiel, the angelic warrior, has been kidnapped before? Really? 

"Think I can hitch a ride. It'll probably take a few hours." 

"It'll take me a little over ten to get to you. Look for his car, call me when you find it, or him, and, Claire?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Be careful." 

Claire huffs. "Like you give a crap." 

"Yeah, well, maybe I don't. But Cas does. And he'll kill me if I let something happen to you," Dean says. “So, you find trouble, you wait until I get there to deal with it. Got it?” 

Claire just snorts and hangs the phone up. Because find trouble? Really? 

If this whole asking the guy who killed Randy, and a house full of other people, to help her rescue the guy who killed her dad isn’t running headlong into trouble she doesn’t know what is. 

God is her life incredibly screwed up. 

XXX 

A hand gently shaking his shoulder rouses Cas from a terrible dream in which he’d followed the sounds of a screaming man into an abandoned warehouse and been unable to find any trace of him. 

The hand, he’s startled to find, belongs to Dean. Dean, who is lying next to him in a very comfortable king sized bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. 

“Dean... why...why are we sleeping together?” Cas asks. 

“Uh, because we always sleep together? Kind of what married people tend to do,” Dean says before flashing the silver band wrapped around his left ring finger at him. “So now that we’ve covered your temporary amnesia, you going to wake Claire? You know you get her moving better than I do. Ask her if she finished that English thing she was suppose to do. I’ll tackle breakfast.” 

Married? Claire? English thing? Breakfast? 

This..this is not his reality. 

“Dean, let me see your arm,” Cas says. 

“Okay,” Dean says tentatively, raising his eyes, but still holding his arm out. “What for?” 

“I...I need to see something,” Cas says as he tugs the requested limb towards him. As suspected, the Mark of Cain is not to be found. 

This...this is not Dean. 

Unfortunately, that leaves Cas with more questions than answers, and, he assumes, letting this Dean know he’s on to that will not be helpful. “Yes...I will wake Claire.” 

As he wanders into the hall, with Dean yelling after him that he still didn’t say what he wanted his arm for, he realizes that the house mirrors the one that Jimmy Novak had in Pontiac, down to the smallest domestic touches. 

He finds, though, that the photos that would have once been of Jimmy, Amelia, and Claire are now of him, Dean, and Claire and their respective families -- a wedding photo with him smashing cake into Dean’s face while Sam stands nearby laughing. A photo of him sitting in a rocking chair holding a tiny Claire, for what he would imagine was the first time, as Dean and Bobby lean over him, admiring the small bundle in his arms. A photo of him dangling his feet off a dock with Anna, Gabriel, Hannah, and Balthazar sitting alongside him. 

He imagines that, in this reality, his brothers and sisters are all still alive. 

He tries not to think too hard about any of this as he scans the hall for Claire’s door. 

He decides that the one with the giant “Do Not Enter” sign is the most promising before knocking.

He’s not certain that playing along is the best course of action here, but he’s still thinking through the alternatives. 

XXX

“Stop!” 

Claire sees the Lincoln Continental out of the corner of her eye when they’re almost past it. If she’d blinked, she would have missed it. 

“This where...you live?” Molly, the college girl that Claire thinks has never picked up a hitchhiker before in her life and clearly just wants to be rid of her, asks. 

Claire’s pretty sure no one lives here, and Molly knows it. 

“Yep. My dad’s office is right around the corner,” Claire grins. “I’m meeting him at work. Thanks so much for helping me out.” 

“Uh, sure thing,” Molly says. Claire watches her shoulders untense as she slams the Civic’s door and rolls her eyes. 

As Molly’s car disappears into the distance, Claire looks down the alley and sees that Cas’ car is parked crookedly behind an abandoned looking warehouse, like he’d abruptly and urgently decided he needed to go into it. 

She can’t imagine why. It looks gross, creepy, and like it came straight out of a horror movie. 

As she inches closer to it, she figures she might as well call Dean to see if he can shed some light on Castiel’s weird motives. 

Once she’s explained the situation, Dean goes eerily quiet for a full two minutes. 

“I’ve seen this before, Claire. It’s a Djinn. It’s got to be. It’s probably feeding off of Cas. And you don’t get away from that warehouse, it’s going to get the drop on you too.” 

“What the hell is a Djinn?” 

“Evil wish granting genie. Puts you in a good dream while it sucks the life out of you. Tell you more when I get there. I’m getting close. But you, you stay out of there. Promise me you’ll stay out of there.” 

“What about Castiel?” Claire asks. 

“He...it can take days for them to feed off a human. And he’s not even human. So, we’ll just have to hope it’s taking its sweet time with Cas’ mojo. And you and Cas, you’re both just going to have to wait for me.” 

With that, the line goes dead, and Claire rubs away the grime that’s built up on one of the warehouse’s few windows. Inside she sees Castiel’s hands bound together and hung from the ceiling with a bag of blood hanging next to him as well as another man strung up in the same manner dangling a few feet away. 

She wants to scream, but instead she claps her hand to her mouth and prays that Castiel is still alive in there. 

Then, ignoring every last word Dean told her, she runs into the warehouse and reaches up for Castiel’s wrist, feeling for his pulse. She’s not even sure he’s suppose to have one, since he’s an angel, but he does. It’s slow and uneven, but it’s there. 

She relaxes, ever so slightly. 

As she lowers herself down, her phone buzzes. 

She pulls it out to find a text from Dean. _Know you won’t listen because, hell, I know I wouldn’t have. So tell him it’s not real. Keep your eyes peeled. Any sign of the Djinn, you get the hell out._

Followed shortly by _You die, I’ll kill you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [catalogercas](http://catalogercas.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

Now that Claire is satisfied that Castiel isn’t already a goner, she’s forced to realize the crappiness of her current situation. 

She’s stuck, waiting for help, in an abandoned warehouse that smells like damp cardboard and rat piss, with the company of two unconscious men, possibly a dangerous supernatural creature she’s never before encountered, and, probably, rats. 

She shivers against the cool air, wraps her arms around her shoulders, and hopes the low scritch in the walls is the latter. 

“Guess it’s just me, you, and Run Away Ralph," she mutters to Castiel before screwing up her face in annoyance. She shouldn’t have to do this hopeful, optimistic pep talk thing for him. “So looks like you went and got your angel butt dream-napped. Great job on the whole coming to catch up with me thing, by the way. But don’t worry. Me and Dean, we’re going to get you out of this. And when we do, you damn well better appreciate that I called that jackass for you.” 

She tracks his facial features as she speaks, but his slack jawed, closed-eyed expression remains the same. 

“Anyway, look, Dean said to tell you whatever you're living out in that goofy brain of yours isn't the real deal. So whatever it is, don't buy into it, okay?" 

Still nothing. 

Claire glares at the warehouse's grimy, glass walls as she clenches and unclenches her fists in frustration. 

She feels powerless. 

Talking isn’t going to do squat to stop Castiel from becoming nothing more than this Djinn’s goddamn snack.

She needs to actually do something. 

And, she decides, she can.

She grabs Castiel's arm and tugs at the sleeve of his overcoat until the angel blade falls loose. She drops to the floor to grab it and feels judgingly parental eyes piercing her from behind Castiel's firmly closed lids. 

"Don't look at me like that. You're not..." Claire wraps her hand tightly around the hilt, "you're not my dad. Besides, not like you can use it. You’re still in dreamland. Besides, I’ll give it back."

She picks herself back up before scanning the entirety of the warehouse for anything else that might be useful.

There's not much, aside from several stacks of crumbling cardboard boxes and a few scattered stools, but, luckily, that’s really all she needs. 

XXX 

The gentle rap on Claire’s bedroom door is met with an annoyed huff followed by the sound of a drawer being slammed shut. “Go away, Dean.” 

“It’s, uh, not Dean,” Castiel says, uncertain who precisely he or Dean are to this particular version of Claire. He has a pretty strong suspicion from the pictures he’s just seen, but she’s calling Dean by name, so maybe he’s wrong.

“Dad,” Claire sounds a fraction less annoyed, and, yes, _dad_ ,“Yes, I did my stupid English essay. Yes, I will be downstairs for breakfast and ready for you to take me to school like the good little ten year old you’re treating me like. And, no, I will still not acknowledge ‘Dean’ as my father. What he did was unforgivable, and you know it.” 

“I agree that Randy did not deserve to die,” Castiel starts before realizing that, most likely, Claire’s grievances in this reality are a little more mundane. 

Claire immediately pulls back her door and demands, “Um, what now? Who the hell is Randy?” 

“Randy is...um...” Cas falters, knowing he needs to lie about this but finds that a plausible explanation is simply not forthcoming. 

Fortunately, Dean reappears in the hallway and lightly punches his shoulder. “Come on, babe, do you really think this is about my books? That she’s upset that I killed off a guy that isn’t even a main character? Surprised you even remember him.” 

“Then, um, what is it about?” Cas asks, glancing hesitantly between Claire’s wrathful glare and Dean’s forced smile, feeling hopelessly lost. 

“Un -frigging- believable,” Claire’s glare turns on him before she slams her door. 

Seemingly undeterred by the clear signal to go away, Dean addresses the wood, “Kiddo, you still coming down for breakfast? Because chocolate chips can definitely still go in these pancakes.” 

“That for you or for me, Dean?” Claire spits out spitefully. 

“Or I can do that pecan and blueberry thing you two weirdos like,” Dean says as he starts tugging Cas down the stairs. “No? Okay. More for me and Dad then.” 

Once they reach the kitchen, Dean drops into a chair and puts his head on the table. “Teenagers, man. I can’t do this anymore.” 

“She will not always be a teenager,” Cas offers. 

Dean huffs. “Lot of good that does me right now. I mean, I already apologized. What else am I gonna do?"

Cas, still uncertain what exactly has transpired, simply shrugs. 

"But still got to deal with these yahoos she's been hanging out with for at least another year. Why can’t she hang out with that Kevin brainiac again? Or even your nephew? What’s his name Saman-something?" 

“Samandriel?” Cas suggests. 

“Yeah, him. Never would have pulled a gun on that kid.” 

Ah. Now Cas thinks that he has solved at least part of the puzzle. “You pulled a gun on one of Claire’s friends?” 

“Dude, you were there,” Dean lifts his head before frowning at Cas. “You don’t remember?” 

“I do not.” 

Is he meant to? Are these memories he has truly forgotten or memories falsely constructed by the animator of this reality? 

“Yesterday with that Dustin kid? Over here trying to con our straight-A girl scout into robbing the Gas N’ Sip on Grove? You really don’t remember?” 

Cas, still musing, shakes his head. 

“You feeling alright? You’ve been acting funny all morning.” 

Cas brushes Dean’s hand away from his forehead before voicing what has clicked. “Dustin?” 

That really is the name of Claire’s friend, the boy who worked at The Weiner Hut. So this reality is, at least, made out of partial truths, dependent on his own memory. He can tell that much. 

“Yeah, that’s the guy, the guy I pulled my sawed-off on when he wouldn’t leave after our Claire shot down his offer, clear as a bell, and he wouldn’t get out of here. I’m not proud of it, but I can’t undo it.” 

“But you did not pull the trigger?” 

Dean’s eyes shoot up and his voice turns defensive, “Of course, I didn’t pull the damn trigger. The thing wasn’t even loaded. I was just trying to scare the kid.” 

Cas nods. He had suspected as much. 

This reality is not as dark as his own. Here, Dean is not a murderer. Here, Claire and Dean may be able to work out their differences. 

He wonders, briefly, if this reality has been constructed for this purpose -- preparing the rift created between these two. It is the way of angels to attempt fixing problems this way, after all. 

However, while he is confident that a supernatural entity has created this reality, he has already ruled out angels. Not only because he would be able to sense their presence, in spite of his limited grace, but also because angel realities tend to be more complex and far less dependent on the truth. 

Unfortunately, he’s still left with the possibility of witches, demi-gods, and djinni, and he needs to figure out which, quickly. 

Therefore, as Claire storms into the kitchen, glaring daggers at Dean, before pulling a box of cereal from the top of the refrigerator, Castiel takes what appears to be his own cell phone from the counter and starts scrolling through his contact list. 

It is clear to him that neither Dean nor Claire are acquainted with hunting, but Sam still could be. 

He’s just found his number when Claire claps her hands on his shoulders. “Are you going to make me walk?” 

“Hmm?” 

“School, Dad. School. I only go to it every day.” 

She dangles the keys to the Lincoln over his shoulder and shakes them. 

“School. Yes, of course.” 

XXX 

Claire climbs onto the rickety stool before stretching the blade to the rope tethering Cas to the ceiling. “Okay, Castiel. I’ve got this.” 

But she’s pretty sure she doesn’t. 

She’s piled a stack of cardboard below him to break his fall in the hopes that celestial beings cannot be harmed by dropping onto hard concrete while unconscious. 

But she’s pretty skeptical about that. 

She chews at her lip before starting to slowly saw into the rope. She’s barely started when a sound to her back makes the hairs on her neck prickle. 

She freezes before turning around slowly. 

Dean stands in the open doorway looking at Castiel with no small degree of concern. 

The moment he catches Claire staring, however, the openness of his expression fades into something else. 

“Need a hand? I got two.” 

Claire rolls her eyes. “Hilarious. Now get over here and make sure your boyfriend doesn’t dent the floor.”


	3. Chapter 3

“He’s not, uh... “ Dean waves his hand dismissively, and Claire rolls her eyes even harder. Like she gives a crap what’s going on between the two of them. “Right, um, nevermind.” 

“Just hold him up,” Claire says in exasperation as she presses the blade into the rope and begins to saw at it. She’s hoping it’s going to slice right through so this will be over and done with. So she and Dean can be over and done with. But it doesn’t, and it’s slow, tedious going. 

Maybe the blade needs sharpened. Maybe she needs practice. Maybe Djinni market in extremely strong rope designed specifically for this strange brand of torture. Regardless, she figures she may as well use the time to learn what she’s up against. “So, we cut him down, he gets out of dreamland, right?” 

Dean huffs and shakes his head. “Two ways out of a Djinn dream, and that ain’t one of ‘em.” 

Of course not. 

“So what do we do have to do?” 

“Kill the Djinn.” 

Claire nods. Killing the Djinn, that’s straightforward enough. Hard to do when they don’t know where the Djinn is, but straightforward. 

So that covers option one. 

“Or?” 

“Or nothing. We don’t find the Djinn, Rip Van Winkle here’s got to realize he’s being played and wake himself up. You hear that, Cas? None of it’s real,” Dean's voice is tinged with concern as he clamps his hand firmly around Castiel's shoulder and shakes at it more roughly than is strictly necessary. “You got to snap out of it, pal.” 

Claire snorts. She doesn’t want to care about this, like at all, but at the same time, “'Pal'? Really? That’s what you’re going with?” 

Dean’s face heats before he raises his eyes and glares at her. “Think you could speed that up any?” 

Claire huffs before flourishing the last fraying bits of rope in his face and letting Castiel’s full weight drop into him, nearly knocking him over. 

“Whoa. Let’s not go bowling with lives here.”

“Looks like you’ll live,” Claire says as she waits for Dean to pull himself and Cas back up. 

Then she jumps down from the stool and offers Dean her two cents on whatever nonsense is going on between the two of them. “He stuck up for you, you know?” 

“What?” 

“After you, you know...” Claire jabs the blade into the air emphatically. “Said ‘there’s a little monster in all of us.'"

Dean scowls and squints, as he tries to work out how that's a good thing, and Claire decides that he's spent entirely too much time in Castiel's company.

"As in, _everyone's_ a monster, not just you."

Dean blinks, and there's a strange look in his eye, "That right?"

A look that makes Claire soften her next words. "Yeah. That’s right.” 

XXX 

As Cas reaches for the keys, Claire pulls them back. "Uh, I'm driving." 

"Then why...?" Cas starts to ask only to have Claire give him a hard, condescending glare that questions his sanity. 

He gulps. The Dean of this world is right. _Teenagers_. 

"Because," Claire rolls her eyes as she waves him out the door, "even though I've known stick shift since I was tall enough to touch the pedals, _you_ told Dean I had to get my license the goody two shoes way." 

"Um..." Cas says intelligently, very vaguely recalling Sam's explanation of the legal way of getting a license. It had sounded both time consuming and tedious. 

"You know, getting all my man hours at the wheel notarized," Claire says as she waves him towards the Impala, pulling its key out of her pocket. She’d had the keys to the Lincoln inside, and the Lincoln’s right next to it. And the look that she’s giving him, as if daring him to comment, only solidifies his assumption that she isn’t meant to drive Dean’s car. 

He has no idea what to do about that, so with a weary, defeated sigh, he settles into the passenger's side of the bench while Claire adjusts the mirror and opens the garage. Then, realizing that Claire has derailed him from doing so, he digs his phone back out and begins the search for Sam’s number all over. 

No sooner has he found it than Claire is stealing his attention again, pulling them into a driveway that most certainly does not belong to a school. 

"Claire," he says half in question, half in warning as she kills the ignition and waves at the boy sitting in the driver's seat of a pickup. Dustin. 

"Cover for me!" She shouts as she slams the door and heads for Dustin. 

They're half out of the driveway before he's pieced together that Claire is bolting on him. 

Again. 

Frustrated and unsure what to do, he calls Dean. 

He's barely finished his explanation before Dean snaps. "She what!?"

There's a weighty pause before he sighs wearily. "I don't know what's going on with her, Cas. I don't. She's been such a good kid. And now she's ...she's hanging with the wrong crowd. She's pulling off stupid crap. And, Christ. We both know it, so I might as well say, it's my fault."

Cas raises an eye. Was it not his own lack of involvement that had led to this? "I highly doubt your influence could be solely responsible for her behavior." 

He slides to the driver's side and backs out of the driveway. 

He and Dean are going to find Claire. Together. 

He drops the phone to the seat -- Sam and his number entirely forgotten. 

XXX 

"So...now what?" Claire asks as Dean hesitantly leans Castiel against the wall. 

Dean shrugs. "We wait." 

No sooner are the words out of his mouth than the already dim lights flicker eerily, and a scream pierces the air. 

A scream that, Claire realizes, as she remembers that they're the only two that are currently conscious, had to have been Dean's. 

Trying not to panic, she taps at the flashlight on her phone and weaves it until she sees a shadowy blue figure that must be the Djinn pressing its hand to Dean's forehead. 

Dean tries, momentarily, to resist, then, inexplicably, lets all of his defenses drop. "You know what, go ahead. Take me. I'm better off in dreamworld anyway. But my friend, you've got to let him go." 

"You are a mere mortal!" The Djinn laughs derisively. "Your friend -- I could live off of him for centuries. Human blood. Immortality. It's ambrosia to me." 

"About that..." Dean turns his arm out so that the Mark of Cain is facing the Djinn. "Cas ain't the only one here that's immortal." 

"A demon for an angel...an unusual trade..." 

And something about the way the Djinn is looking between Castiel and Dean, like they're both particularly delicious, particularly rare steaks makes Claire snap. "They're not your damn dinner. Not today!" 

She draws out Castiel's blade and jabs it straight into the Djinn's chest. It stares at her unblinkingly before reaching its hand out for her forehead. She twists the blade and jabs a second time, and the blue glint in its eyes fades. 

Once the light's completely gone, Claire pulls the blade out, makes a face at the blue goo lining it, and turns back to Dean. "You okay?" 

"Just peachy," Dean says before all but running to Castiel. He crouches down next to him and rests his hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Dorothy, you back in Kansas?" 

"Dean...?" Cas blinks dazedly. "Where are we?" 

"Think you took a few wrong turns at Albuquerque when you went to meet Claire," Dean says. 

"But luckily I came to save your butt anyway," Claire says. "You're welcome." 

"Claire?" Cas says, his brow furrowing. "You're both here... but you were both there." 

"What...in your dream?" Dean asks, looking perplexed.

"It was a Djinn...I should have known," Cas sighs wearily, and his eyes fall closed again, worn out, apparently, from dreaming. 

Claire decides to take the opportunity to remind Dean that Cas isn't actually the only one in the warehouse that needs their help. 

They manage to get the other guy, who is, thankfully, still alive, down, and take him to an E.R. before Dean drives them to the next town over and books a motel room, with two beds and a cot.


	4. Chapter 4

Claire’s not really looking for praise here. She was only doing what was necessary to get all three of them out of the horror movie that was the last couple hours. 

But that doesn’t seem to stop Dean from clapping her on the shoulder after they’ve deposited Castiel on the bed closest to the door. “You did good back there." 

She still has to fight a smile. “That earn me a fake ID? I know you’ve got ‘em.” 

Dean looks at her curiously. “What for?” 

She’s on the run from being a ward of the state until she turns eighteen. What doesn’t she need a fake ID for? 

“Being me, I guess.” 

The sincerity of her answer has Dean frowning, maybe even considering, but Castiel coughs from the bed before sitting up and crossing his arms. "No." 

And Claire knows she’s being shot down. Because even though Dean’s apparently a moron, he’s still going to side with his ‘not’ boyfriend. 

Except Dean keeps frowning, and, she thinks, maybe, she's wrong. 

"Cas, she can't live like this." 

"Like what?" Castiel squints at Dean, like he’s the one to explain the mess that is her life. 

She’s pretty sure he's not. He doesn't _know_ her life. "Uh, I'm right here."

"Okay," Dean cocks an eye at her, "so, correct me if I'm wrong -- hitchhiking from town to town, staying in shady motels that don't bother to check, or don't give a crap, that you're underage?" 

"You mean like this one?" 

"Yeah,” Dean replies levelly,"like this one. How am I doing so far?" 

Pretty damn well. 

She shrugs and crosses her arms. "I get by." 

"Yeah," Dean huffs. "I got by too. Sooner or later, it's not going to work out." 

And the way he says it, Claire gets that he gets it. That her life is a house of cards, one wrong move away from collapsing. But he's not the one that's suppose to fix that. "And I'm sure you're just chock full of great ideas." 

"No," Dean says, "but I think you want help. Maybe not mine. And believe me, I get that. I wouldn’t either, I were you. But, kiddo, we owe you that much." 

She considers that as Castiel, who has been watching them in silence, offers, with overwhelming sincerity, "You are always welcome to stay with me, Claire." 

She and Dean both side-eye him. 

She knows, without any doubt, that that is an untenable plan. He's not her dad. He's not her anything. 

But Castiel has this look, this look that's so hurt and lost and vulnerable that she almost wants to forget why that's never going to work. Because this clueless idiot only wants to fix what he broke. And she knows that. 

But he just ...he can't. 

And she doesn't know what to say, that she hasn't already. 

Fortunately, Dean's already taking the reins, "Cas, look, forgetting the fact that her life is total crap _because of us,_ she needs something...something stable. And we're anything but that." 

" _We_?" Castiel repeats, squinting. 

When Dean responds to this by reaching his arm around his neck and rubbing at it, Claire decides that her fake dads can plan her fake future without her. She's pretty sure that's not the way this conversation's heading anyway. "So... there's a pizza place across the street, who's buying?" 

Dean barely looks away from Castiel to hand her a wad of cash. 

She walks out the door, unsure if she's going to let them help or if she's even going to come back. 

XXX 

The door slams shut behind Claire, and Dean swivels around and stares at the lock. 

He looks like he’d like to follow her. Cas thinks that, maybe, he should. 

But, instead, he paces across the carpet, fidgets momentarily with the comforter on the opposite bed, and finally plops down on top of it. He raises his eyes to Cas. “So, me and Claire?” 

“You and Claire," Cas repeats, not quite a question. He shifts himself up against the headboard. He’s fully aware of what Dean’s getting at, but he doesn’t know how Dean’s going to react. 

He imagines badly. 

Dean, even without that Mark on his arm, is afraid of the way he feels for him. It makes him deeply and inexplicably uncomfortable. 

After a few moments of looking like he’d rather be anywhere else he manages to spit out,“Your white picket fence, whatever the Djinn cooked up for you, we were there.” 

“You were,” Cas agrees simply. 

He still doesn't believe that means what common sense is telling him it does.

Even with the truth plainly in front of him, Dean willfully denies it.

And because of that, Cas shouldn't be surprised by the next conclusion he draws. "You come down from your perch in the clouds, mingle with the commoners?" 

It still hurts, because it’s clearly meant to be a jab, but Cas understands why Dean says it. He sighs. "It was only you and Claire, Dean." 

Dean stares dumbly, and he elaborates, "You were my husband. Claire was our daughter. We were attempting to raise her. I was teaching her how to drive... " 

Dean’s eyes go wide, and, when he finds his voice, it’s panic stricken. “Me and you? Suburban soccer dads? That’s... _that’s_ your apple pie dream?” 

“I don't believe there was soccer involved," Cas says. Dean gives him a withering look, and he assumes that is not relevant. 

“And you... you were human?" This, however, is. 

Cas considers briefly. There had been no evidence in that reality, aside from his memory of this one, that he had ever been an angel. “I think I was. I could not access my grace.” 

Dean gets up, paces across the room again, settles against the window on the far side, and turns around. “I...Christ. I ...I need some air.” 

He looks back at Cas, when he gets to the door, like he thinks maybe he shouldn’t actually leave it at that, and Cas hopes that he won’t, though he will not be surprised.

He stands frozen in the doorframe, and Cas doesn't have the energy to convince him not to run away. The bone tired weariness of having his essence drained is starting to seep into his skin. 

If Dean's going to leave, he’s going back to sleep. 

The moment Dean notices him burrowing into the pillow, however, he shoots him a worried look, before cautiously approaching the bed. His voice is suspicious. “You slept the whole way here.” 

"The Djinn, it took more of the stolen grace than I would have liked,” Cas says wearily. “My ‘batteries’...”

“They're running low.” Dean sits down beside him and tentatively puts his hand on his shoulder. "We're gonna fix that."

Cas reaches forward, grips Dean’s arm in his hand, and rubs his thumb against the Mark. “Fixing this is more important.” 

“Not a contest, Cas.” 

“It’s taking you away from yourself.” 

“Yeah, and burning out slow -- that’s doing you a lot of favors.” 

Cas looks up, meets Dean’s gaze, and asks softly,“Are we ...are we going to get through this?” 

Dean huffs and looks down. “The hell if I know. Ain’t telling you we are. Not after last time.” 

“Then...then kiss me.” 

“What?...why?” 

“It can’t hurt. It may help." 

“What do you mean it can’t hurt? We’re...Cas... I’ll...hell...” Dean leans forward, his lips twitching. He stops inches away. “We’re never gonna get this right, you know that?” 

“The kiss?” Cas asks lightly. He knows it's not what Dean means. 

Dean side eyes him. “Us.” 

“Are you unwilling to take the chance -- the chance that we will, get it right?" 

Dean shrugs. “I don't know, Cas. Kind of a big gamble. And right now," he rubs absently at the Mark, "not exactly Brady Bunch family material." 

Cas squints and shrugs before taking both of Dean's hands in his. "I'm willing, and I will always be willing to take that chance because I believe that the Dean Winchester that I know and that I love is in here still, despite that Mark, and that Dean -- that Dean is worth everything." 

Dean looks at him without saying a word for several long moments before finally cupping Cas' head in his hands. "I'm never gonna deserve you." 

Their lips brush lightly before Claire kicks the door open. She sets three boxes of pizza on the closest dresser, muttering, "Not your boyfriend, my ass..." 

XXX 

Dean and Castiel split apart sheepishly, and Claire tries hard not to think that this is probably exactly what walking in on her actual parents would feel like. So gross. At least they were only kissing. 

She shrugs and shakes herself before digging out plates and napkins. "Figured everyone would be cool with pepperoni and cheese? And, uh, I did some thinking, and, um, maybe you guys can help me with something." 

"Anything, Claire," Castiel says, while Dean gives her a hard calculating look, because he's smarter than that. "With what?" 

She roots through her bag until she finds her mom's journal. She flips it to the last page and sets it on the bed between them. 

She doesn't want to ask for their help, but, unfortunately, they're probably the best ones for the job. "Help me find my mom." 

Dean picks the journal up and skims the last entry. Claire summarizes. "She was looking for a miracle worker." 

"Sounds like a case," Dean says. "I'll call Sam. But, uh, Claire, even saying we do find your mom..." 

He trails off, and Claire thinks he knows where he's going. "She might not want to step up to the plate. Yeah, I know. Kind of want to find her to tell her off, anyway. She just took off...looking for my dad." 

She turns to Cas and stares at him, at the truth that her dad is just gone. That her mom went chasing shadows when she could have stayed and raised her daughter. 

Cas looks back at her, with that sad, hopeless expression, still wishing he could fix this. She supposes helping her find the rest of her family is as close as he's ever going to get. 

He, thankfully, doesn't say anything, and Claire turns back to Dean. "I turn 18 in a few weeks. Think you guys can keep me away from Illinois' child services that long?" 

"Deal," Dean says. 

"And...one more thing..." Claire says, as she sees the keys to the Impala dangling out of Dean's pocket. She doesn't know why she's never asked anyone this before, "teach me how to drive?" 

Dean and Castiel raise their eyes in unison before sharing a strangely weighted and suspicious look. They seem to come to a silent agreement before Dean bites out, "Don't eye my keys like that." 

"That's not a 'no,'" Claire says. 

And it's not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assume the rest of this plays out, more or less, like Angel Heart did. 
> 
> (I started writing this fic before Angel Heart aired, and I didn't think we were going to get anything like Angel Heart...)


End file.
